Page 37 - Unlikely Stories 1

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spread the alarm. But Bernie had specifically warned her not to do
that: it’s like sudden depressurization on an airplane, he said; you
have to put on your own oxygen mask before you try to get one on
your child. Otherwise you may both be lost. And he had promised
that everyone would know about the disaster by the time he got
home, presuming it happened during his working hours.
His job, in the nearby state government office building, involved
auditing and statistical analysis. Ty was not interested in technical
matters, and was little interested in the details of his work; Bernie, for
his part, was content not to burden her with them. Their lives, like
those of most of their friends, revolved around outdoor activities on
weekends and television programs in the evenings. She had a small
catalogue sales business she ran out of her home office. It
supplemented his income, enabled her to work part-time and
provided her enough satisfaction to prevent domestic strife.
She heard the screech of brakes and tires as Bernie pulled into the
driveway. That was not his driving style: now she knew it was serious.
He continued more cautiously into the two-car garage, parking in his
carefully marked spot next to the idling station wagon. Then he
leaped out of his car, eyes wild but focused.
“Ready?”
“Yes, but—”
“In you go,” he said, fairly pushing her into the other vehicle. He
made a quick inspection of the items she’d loaded, checked the
gauges on the dashboard, and nodded with grim satisfaction.
“Perfect, Ty. We’re going to make it.”
“But, Bernie,” she cried, as he pulled out into street and waited
until the garage door had closed behind them. “What happened?
Where are we going?”
“Tell you in a minute.”
She sat silently, hands clasped tightly in her lap as he zipped
through residential streets to the nearest entrance to the interstate
highway. He headed north, toward the state line. Five minutes later
they were out of the city limits, rolling at the maximum speed limit

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